


Don't Let Me Go...

by pherryt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12.11 Coda, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Castiel's POV, Dean loses his memory, Grace - Freeform, Profound Bond, Sfb, Souls, minor season 12 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was always aware of Dean Winchester on some level. No matter where he was in the world, or even in Heaven, Dean was a constant presence in the back of his mind.It was always there.Until the day it wasn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so that episode was (mostly) funny, but god, I tell you, when Dean was in the bathroom trying to remember who he was, I teared up.
> 
> Then I read something, a CODA this morning about his and Cas's connection during that event and it got me to thinking...and if I could just FIND that CODA i would link it here, since it kinda inspired this (though its very different).
> 
> I was afraid it was too cheesy but i was assured that "Oh it's super cheesy, but I like it!" So here we go, posting anyway.
> 
> Sorry, no art. I hadn't even intended on writing this...it just...happened.
> 
> *EDIT* Aha! I REMEMBERED the post that sparked me thinking about Cas's awareness of Dean - it was by Jhoom - and she posted a [ficlet of it on tumblr ](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/157044896082/coda-for-1211-they-see-cas-when-theyre-back-at), so check it out :D

**Don’t Let Me Go**

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was always aware of Dean Winchester on some level. No matter where he was in the world, or even in Heaven, Dean was a constant presence in the back of his mind.

It hadn’t been always been that way of course.

In the beginning, Castiel had to make a conscious effort to keep track of Dean, keep tabs on him for the sake of the world. After a while, this was peppered with spikes where Dean made the effort to contact him, usually via prayer.

Castiel wasn’t too sure when that changed. But at some point, during their fight in that first apocalypse, it had. Somewhere along the way, those spikes had grown more frequent, and Castiel no longer needed to put any effort in to know where Dean was or how he was doing. Because Dean did it all on his own.

The nature of Dean’s presence in the back of his mind changed. Sometimes it was lonely, sometimes sad. Occasionally joyful, but oftentimes urgent, or angry. But always this low presence, this hum that tickled at Castiel’s grace.

When he was filled with Leviathans, he didn’t notice it, but it was still there. Even as Emmanuel, even when he had ‘checked out’ (as Dean would say) after taking on Sam’s pain, his hallucinations, Castiel felt it, though he didn’t understand it.

It was always there.

Until the day it wasn’t.

It had been devastating the first time it happened. No less devastating each and every time that followed. So many times now, had it happened, so many times now had his grace felt the loss of Dean’s soul. So many times had Castiel’s heart cried out in agony at the empty spaces that loss created, how deep and unfathomable that void was.

It got no easier with each occurrence. And it always heralded something catastrophic.

The first time he noticed it was when he fell. Castiel couldn’t have heard _anyone_ much less Dean at that point. And he hadn’t realized how much he would miss the comforting presence he’d come to expect. It was, by that time, a part of him so deeply that it had felt like he’d lost a limb. But that feeling had initially been drowned out by all the other overwhelming sensations that suddenly being human brought on. He hadn’t been prepared for the sheer complexity and range of human emotion and Castiel hadn’t been able to identify that feeling till he finally managed to find a phone and call Dean, relief coursing through his body, washing through him like a balm at the simple sound of Dean’s voice.

Of course, eventually he got his grace back, and the feeling returned, flooding into him, comforting him with its presence. Dean’s soul once more dancing in and around Castiel’s grace, teasing at the edges of his awareness. This time, Castiel didn’t take it for granted and he treasured the feel of it.

Then Dean took on the Mark. And for the first time in _years_ , his constant awareness of Dean…faltered. Sputtered like a candle. Weak, then strong, gone for seconds or moments at a time before returning. Dean was losing himself to the Mark. And it was wrecking them all.

And when Dean died, even as Castiel stared in disbelief at Metatron’s words, he’d felt the truth resonating through him. For several hours, there was a Dean shaped hole in his grace. Returning as a Demon, Castiel’s awareness of Dean had also returned, though it was muted at best, filtered through some dark veil and Castiel could barely feel it at all – when it wasn’t gone entirely.

Curing Dean of being a Demon had helped. But only for a little while. He knew how Dean was really doing by the waxing and waning of their connection. This sense that he’d once ignored, this profound connection between them, Castiel continued to shine a light on, examining it every which way, hoping to find a way to keep Dean as _Dean_. He clutched that hum in his Grace, fervently wishing to never let it go.

Of course, Castiel expected to lose that when he let Lucifer in. He had no time to mourn that loss, since he never lost it. Feeling Dean’s intense longing had been a surprise. Castiel had thought his will and awareness of the outside world and anything that connected him to it would have been subsumed by the archangel, and yet…

And yet, Castiel thought it might have been the one thing that had kept him from going under completely and losing himself forever.

Still, these past few years had been one blow after another, and when Dean took the spirit bomb to kill Amara, Castiel could no longer hold out hope that things would be okay.

Prepared, once again to grieve Dean Winchester, Castiel was immensely surprised that Dean’s hum had continued unabated.

Castiel felt a wild hope rise in him again. That somehow, someway, Dean had done what Winchesters always seemed to do - prevail and survive.

Still, as wild as it was, that hope was a flimsy thing, as memories of Purgatory rose in his mind. When Castiel had pushed Dean away, remained behind in Purgatory, Castiel could still feel him, still almost ‘hear’ him.  It shouldn’t have been possible. Purgatory wasn’t merely a realm a way, it was locked down tight. Castiel had thought it was his own selfish desires that deluded him into thinking he could still feel Dean’s presence.

When he’d gotten out, he’d briefly entertained the idea that maybe it hadn’t been.  Maybe it had been real. He’d been drawn to Dean’s side - scaring the man, and deepening his anguish - several times before Castiel had been able to be free of Purgatory completely.

But then he’d learned of Naomi’s deception and he discarded that idea. He’d imagined it after all. His first instinct had been right. The longing he’d felt had simply been what the humans called a ‘Phantom Pain’.

And so when Chuck had disappeared and the sun had returned to normal, the Darkness defeated even while he still felt _Dean, Dean, Dean_ , flooding through his Grace, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to believe.

Or tell Sam.

There was nothing worse than false hope, and it would not have been the first time Castiel - unable to move on, to let go - had felt Dean’s soul as though Dean were still there.

Now, sitting alone in the Bunker, the awareness of Dean jumped, wiggled and slid. It fluctuated so wildly that Castiel couldn’t get a sense of what was going on at all. The hum of Dean’s soul that echoed in Castiel’s Grace was such a part of him now, like breathing for humans – so necessary for life, yet relegated to the subconscious mind – that he usually only noticed it during particularly strong bursts of emotion…or when it disappeared completely.

And something was wrong. Very wrong. Dean was fading in and out, Castiel catching glimpses of panic, despair, determination and longing and other flashes of emotion so quick and chaotic that Castiel had no hope of identifying them in the brief moments he was able to connect to Dean.

It didn’t make any sense. Sam and Dean had gone out on a routine case. Sam’s last text had indicated only equipment malfunction and nothing to cause alarm.

Castiel took out his phone and stared at it. Glaring as if it could give him answers to why Dean’s soul was wavering so badly.

There were no calls from Sam. No prayers from Dean. Castiel didn’t mind that Dean tended to call Cas via phone these days – in fact, Castiel even preferred the phone, as it allowed him to respond to Dean, getting to interact with him, no matter how brief. Prayer had become a thing of the past.

But it was moments like these that Castiel wished Dean still used prayer.

What was going on? In his fear for Dean, Castiel forgot Sam’s earlier text and he tried calling Dean first. When he remembered, he silently cursed himself – another Winchester habit the angel had acquired – and switched to Sam’s cell instead.

It took less than an instant for Sam to answer, yet for some reason, it felt like an eternity. It was strange, that moment when - sometime in the last few years – the angel had realized how long a minute, or a second could feel. These things that, to him, weren’t normally even a blink of an eye were suddenly longer than a century. An eon. It was nerve-wracking for a being that lived as long as him.

“I’m kind of busy, Cas. Call me back later,” Sam’s voice was rushed and worried.

“Sam, wait! What’s wrong with Dean?” Castiel managed to get out before Sam hung up. There was a brief pause where Castiel thought maybe he hadn’t been in time and Sam already had hung up.

“How’d you know – never mind. He’s been hexed and I gotta go, Cas, or this won’t end well. I’m on a time limit. I’ll explain later.” Sam finally answered.

“What if I could help?”

“I wish that you could, but you’re too far away. I already know what to do, but I gotta _go_.” Sam’s tone was verging on frantic.

“Of course, call me when…if…” Castiel couldn’t say it. An angel of the Lord, Warrior of God, and he was too afraid to say it.

“I will,” Sam assured softly just before he hung up.

Unable to concentrate on _anything_ else with his worry for Dean at the forefront of his mind, Castiel dawdled in the bunker, staring at the ‘crime wall’ he’d created but seeing none of it.

Instead, he’d locked all his awareness on Dean, focused on him as best as he could through their weakening connection, hoping to glean something.

“Cast – Cas is my best friend.”

The words whispered through his being and Castiel straightened up from his slump in surprise.

Dean had sounded like he was _right there_ , determination and fear lacing his words. He sounded so close, Castiel almost expected he could _see_ Dean. His face staring straight ahead, his eyes looking lost and fearful, one tear, than another sliding down his face. Castiel shook his head to clear it and concentrated. Honing in on Dean through the words, Castiel strained to ‘hear’ more.

It was heartbreaking. Dean was…losing himself, losing the things that made him who he was. With no sense of self, there was no ‘Dean’ for Castiel to find. The snippets that broke through were all that were connecting him. He tried to reach out through that connection, to help, to sooth, to do _anything_ for Dean.

 _Cas…don’t let me forget you._  Dean was begging in his mind, tears filling Castiel’s eyes at the words that he somehow knew – even across all this distance - were not spoken aloud. _Please Cas…I can’t…I can’t…You and Sam are my whole world, Cas. What am I if I forget him? If I forget you_ _? Who am I? Who_ **_am_ ** _I?_

“I’m...my name is…my name…”

The tears ran down Castiel’s face freely now, Dean’s words echoing his own thoughts _: who am I without the Winchesters, without_ **_Dean_ ** _?_

And though Dean couldn’t remember his own name, much less anyone else’s, his soul still yearned, still reached for Castiel’s Grace, and through it, Castiel. It was the strongest sense of longing from Dean he had _ever_ yet felt, full of desperation.

 _Hold onto me, I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to lose_ **_you._ **  Castiel’s breath caught in his throat – though he didn’t really need to breathe – because even without a name to call out, even as Dean further lost himself to what Cas assumed was the witches hex, the yearning only grew stronger, a piece of Dean’s soul latching onto Castiel’s beat up Grace. _I am…who am I? I’m lost…I am lost. Don’t leave me...Don’t let me go…_

Castiel’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair in a white knuckled grip, staring at his phone, willing it to ring, waiting…waiting for Sam to give him good news, for Dean’s soul to remember itself and stop slipping away from Castiel.

How many times could he almost lose Dean?

How many times could he hold on through that heartbreak?

Castiel didn’t think he’d be able to hold on much longer. Grasping with his Grace for any tendrils of Dean’s soul, trying to bolster Dean’s memories and buy him time, Castiel only felt Dean slipping further away till the connection grew taut.

And snapped.

Castiel slumped at the table, shuddering at the aching emptiness, tears running down his face more heavily now as he sobbed, the loss of Dean’s connection too strange, too foreign, too…painful to bear.

He clutched at himself and shook.

Had Sam been too late?

Was Castiel too late?

 _Dean, I wish I’d found the courage to tell you…I love you._ Castiel felt the words pull through him. The words jumped into the void after the lost connection and Castiel closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He’d almost done it, so many times and now…would he ever get the chance to?

His awareness of Dean, that beautiful soul that had imprinted on Castiel as surely as Castiel had imprinted himself on Dean when they had first met in hell, was gone. And Castiel felt emptier than he ever had before.

He didn’t know what to do.

Eventually the tears died and the shaking stopped. All these human emotions that were rising closer and closer to the surface the longer he stayed on earth, in this vessel that was now his own - emotions that felt stronger since his brief stint as a human – had finally run their course, leaving him numb.

He stared into nothing and drifted.

Castiel had no idea how long he sat like that. Time was a human construct, but it felt like an eternity before his head raised sharply, eyes widening and his mouth opened on a gasp…the Dean shaped void was filling, tickling Castiel’s grace with Dean’s own particular hum once again. The hum steadily grew stronger, stretching out from that space inside Castiel that had always welcomed nestled that part of Dean, and it grew and embraced all the parts of Castiel’s Grace in ways it never had before.

Castiel’s eyes filled again, this time for a different reason.

Joy.

Dean was back.


End file.
